


In Which John Egbert Gets All the Guys and Bro Strider Throws Half a Dozen Temper Tantrums

by slyblues



Series: The Troublemakers AU [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Dave gets more guys than john does, F/F, F/M, Humans In Troll Romances, Humanstuck, I don't know how to tag this, M/M, Other, all of the striders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3859042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyblues/pseuds/slyblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UNDER MAJOR CONSTRUCTION [21 June 2017]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which The Striders Have a Surprisingly Average Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italian Striders are my weakness, if this wasn't greatly obvious.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted to fix my indentation issues, but I'm on mobile, so I won't be able to check it or fix it for a couple days. Blah.  
> -ZJ

A light haired Italian family sits around their dining table, chattering lightly amongst themselves. This is the first family dinner these people have had in months, and half of them had to be forced into submission. If that doesn't say something about the eldest brothers' parenting skills, nothing will. The youngest, Dave, sits in his seat, staring at his food blankly and contributing to the conversation very little. His older brother, Dirk-who is only older by a year, Dave is always quick to say- jabs him with an elbow, raising an eyebrow in a silent attempt to figure out what Dave's current issue is. Dave just shakes his head and shoves a fork full of asparagus soaked in garlic butter into his mouth. The taste reminded him of his older brother, the second oldest, "Bro." 

The very same man rolls his shoulders back and the  crack  silences the others at the table. "So, Dave. Have a boyfriend yet? What about that car dog kid you were asking out?" 

Dane smacks his arm in a scolding manner. "You can't just bring things like that up like this. You have to be more considerate,  idiota ." 

 "Naw, Davey can handle it. Right, kid?" The older men avert their attention towards the only natural blonde at the table. 

Dave just shrugs and sips his water. 

"See, he's pissy and it's your fault," Dane jabs at Bro. 

"What? No, it isn't; he's a teenager. Teenagers are pissy." Bro throws his hands in the air.

"It's true," Dirk chimes in. 

"See? Dirk knows what's up." 

"Y'all're all idiots." Three heads whip towards Dave again. 

"Um, rude, kid." Bro leans back and crosses his considerably muscular arms. 

"We kinda are, though," Dirk laughs. He sets his fork on the edge of his plate and throws an "I'll be right back" over his shoulder. 

"Where do you think you're going?" Bro holds up a hand and quirks an eyebrow. 

"The bathroom, jeez." Spiky blond hair disappears around a corner and Bro's hand falls to his silverware. 

"Dane, how goes the movie making?" Bro holds his glass to his lips. 

"Oh, please. You know how it's going." Dane leans on an elbow resting on the table and sighs. Dane's a big-shot director, but his last film was a flop. Too ironic for the masses. "How're the puppets? Nice and comfy, I presume?" 

"Whatch'ou sayin', pretty boy?" Dave could tell Bro was getting angry, which isn't a very rare occurrance. 

"I think you know what I'm saying,  Bro. " A smirk plays on Dane's pale features while Bro growls. 

"Wanna say that again, Dante?" 

Oh, God. Dave knows what's coming. First they start with the names, then it escalates to a fist fight. As long as Dane doesn't-

"Depends. Want me to, Feliciano?"

Bro threw the first punch. 

Dave quietly continues eating, disregarding the hooliganry the two full grown men are childishly participating in. 

Dirk makes a late appearance, squinting and holding up a hand at his guardian's knee in his plate of pasta. "Can y'all quit rollin' around on the table like moody children, or do I have t' make ya?" They ignore such foolish threats, as last week Dirk had trouble lifting his desk while rearranging his room. Dirk blamed the extra garlic bread. 

Speaking of such indulgences, Dirk leaps for the basket of bread before it gets knocked on the floor by a flailing leg. He lands flat on his rear, bread basket clutched tight to his chest. Dave shakes his head slowly at the young man on the floor. Dirk's spiky blonde mess of hair gets flattened by a rogue flying shoe. Dave laughs. While the older Striders wrestle about atop the dining table, the younger brothers laugh and continue eating, revelling in an average Strider family dinner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you thought of this chapter, be it good or bad! I really appreciate all comments!  
> ZJ


	2. In Which the Vantas Family has Guests and the Little Track Star Boy Goes Insane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat's so very kind and charitable, as always. At least his goth brother is completely sensible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the indentation got messed up again, so sorry for that.

Karkat Vantas lives a slightly more interesting life than John Egbert. Usually, at least. At the moment, he is a tad preoccupied with his rambling brother and squealing sisters. Karkat swears he's the only sane one here. Kankri would probably call him triggering if he heard that.  
Speaking of tall, scrawny, and triggered, Kankri's boyfriend is due at the Leijon-Vantas house any minute for a nice family dinner with the future in-laws. Kankri and Cronus have been an item for close to four years now, and no one could do a single thing to separate those two. Karkat hopes they'll have little triggered greaser children. That'd be adorable.  
Fictional children of gay couples aside, Karkat swears he heard the doorbell ring. He rushes to open it, because he's not a heinous host to company. As soon as that streak of violet meets his eye, he slams the door shut.  
"Karkat!" Karkat's mother yells, sliding right past him and re-opening the door. Her dark brown ponytail smacks him square in the face and he backs off. He backs off right up the stairs and into his bedroom.  
The idiot teenage boy forgets that he's not a heinous host for a moment, but quickly comes to his senses and goes back downstairs to greet his guests. With a low growl directed at the youngest Ampora, Karkat directs his attention to the oldest of the group, Mr. Ampora. Karkat has no clue what this man's real name is, buthas taken to calling him Scarface, after the nasty twin scars on his face. "Hello, Mister Ampora! Welcome to our home! Can I take your coat for you?"  
Karkat felt the eyes of his family boring into his back at the rare sight of Karkat being a considerate human being.  
Mr. Ampora blinked a few times and shrugged off his wool overcoat. "Thank you." He held it out to Karkat with a slightly bewildered look on his face; this couldn't be the same Karkat that Signless had told him about.  
Oh, but it was, and with one sassy "not going to extend the same courtesy to me, huh, Kar?" Karkat went ballistic.  
"What did you just say to me, you dick chafing douchenozzle? I was fucking getting to you, was I not? Would you like me to be in seventy different shitting places at once? In that case, sure thing, your cock faced majesty! Should I wipe your ass, too, while I'm fucking at it?" Karkat takes no shit, not from this particular swimming bite in the dick. Not today.  
Mr. and Mrs. Vantas stare in horror. He had been doing so well. Mr. Ampora stares looking slightly impressed, while Cronus and Karkat's siblings brush this off as just another normal happening.  
Kankri slowly rises from his place on the sofa. "Karkat," he begins, "I think you may want to apologize to Mister Ampora and Eridan for such unacceptable behavior. After all, the Amporas are guests in our home, and to rant in such an explosive manner, while put up with among family, is not polite when directed at and in front of others. In addition to the frankly offensive tone to your comment, you used quite a bit of a," he thinks for a moment, "varied vocabulary. There are many things you said that could have been perceived as rude or triggering. Now if you would?" He gestures his head slightly towards Eridan.  
Karkat rolls his eyes and says in his most condescending voice: "I'm sorry, Eridan. Please forgive me?"  
Eridan rolls his eyes in return and meets the narrowed stare of his father. "Fine."  
"Well!" Signless breaks in. "Now that our introductions are over with, shall we eat?"  
Everyone chatters lightly amongst themselves, then turns to migrate to the kitchen. At the table, Karkat is sat immediately across from Eridan and right between Kankri and one of his two sisters, Meulin. Basically, he's been dealt a whole lot of crap here. Kankri is sitting across from Cronus, so those two keep making eyes at each other and Meulin is chattering along with Nepeta about the Titanic or something. Karkat's only other conversational prospect here is Eridan, and that isn't happening.  
Karkat feels something hit his foot. He stops chewing his mouthful of pasta and dips his head under the table, not finding anything that could be the source of the disturbance. Someone could've kicked him, but who would've done that? No one here is that immature.  
It happens again. Karkat stops with his fork still in his mouth. Karkat attempts to kick at the unknown object of his current discontempt, meeting a foot, presumably belonging to the pompous swimmer in front of him. Eridan's head jerks up to meet Karkat's fiery red-brown gaze. The latter smirks and shovels a mouthful of rice into his mouth, narrowing his eyes when there's another tentative tap to his shin. He kicks back, foot connecting with his "friend"'s ankle. Eridan snorts and jerks his leg forward.  
The two testosterone-fueled teenage boys continue like this for a while until Karkat accidentally kicks the older Ampora brother, quickly looking down at his nearly cleaned-off plate of food. Cronus is a little too quick to place blame on Eridan, much to their father's distaste. They bicker back and forth, some of their words in Russian, which no one in the house other than the Amporas know. The Vantas family takes this moment to glance at each other and whisper amongst themselves in Spanish. Before Kankri could begin another lecture, Cronus and Eridan jump from their seats, aiming weapons at each other. Kankri begins to panic, hands covering eyeliner-smeared eyes.  
"Please," he whispers, nearly growling. "Please, you two, just stop."  
"Okay, that's enough." A loud voice rings from Mr. Ampora. "We're going home." He stands and the two boys freeze mid-attack. He grabs onto Eridan's ear and Cronus' collar and drags them to the door, grabbing their coats off the coat rack. They get their respective coats tossed at their faces and shoved out the door. Mr. Ampora turns to say, "Thank you for having us over, I appreciate it. Dinner was great and I apologize for these deti."  
He disappears out the door and Karkat just sips his drink while Kankri sighs and lowers his hands, whispering, "Well."  
Karkat looks at his brother and says, "It was Eridan's fault."  
Kankri's mouth presses into a taut line. "There's always next time, right?"  
"Yeah." Karkat ignores Nepeta's cries of protest and excuses himself from the table. Mr. Vantas tries to pick up the mood downstairs, unusually failing miserably. Failing with his son, at least; his two girls are incredibly easy to excite. Kankri and Karkat always envied that. While the boys are still feeling down over the events occurring ten minutes ago, Nepeta and Meulin are teeming with energy, happily filling the silence in the absence of Karkat and Kankri's constant speech.  
Karkat actually feels pretty bad; Kankri had been looking forward to this for a while. He didn't admit it out loud but his family knows him well enough. It was rare that the young man get visibly excited about something, so Karkat couldn't help but feel like crap. Kankri'll probably brush it off, as usual, but there is a nagging feeling in the fifteen year old's gut that this'll come back to bite him in the ass one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please leave feedback; I need to know what to do differently or change for the future!  
> -ZJ


	3. In Which the Lalondes Concern Themselves With Petty Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose is an angst-filled older sister, while Roxy is an admittedly whiny younger sister. They both irritate each other and their mother to no extent. Also, Roxy's switching schools.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what this is.

Rose Lalonde currently despises her younger sister. 

Roxy Lalonde currently despises her older sister. 

Mom is currently tired of these teenagers' shenanigans. 

Just moments prior to this ridiculousness, Roxy had haphazardly bolted into Rose's bedroom, which is honestly better described as a cave, and knocked over a sky high stack of CDs. Rose, having just organized the neat square cases into alphabetical order, was none too pleased and said some questionable things in the argument that followed. 

In the present, "Mom" Lalonde is scolding her children, not expecting any of her words to penetrate the thick stubbornness of teen angst and irritability, but trying nonetheless.

“So,” the woman starts, her Southern drawl thick and strong with distaste. “Do you want to tell me what happened, Rose? Or would you rather your sister explain?”

Rose remains silent, an indifferent expression gracing her delicate features.

Mom averts her probing stare to Roxy. “Fine then. Since your sister won’t spill, tell me what’s up.”

"She called me stupid." Roxy's voice is hardly audible above the low buzz of the air conditioner and the soft scrape of her sister's shoe against the dense beige carpeting of the living room. 

"Oh? Did she?" Mom looks at her firstborn with raised eyebrows while Roxy stares down at her legs. "Well, Rosey, that's not very nice, is it?"

Rose looks at her mother with a crease between her eyebrows and pursed lips, as if this woman surely isn't serious. "Oh, no, it isn't. I'm so very sorry, my dear mother! What on Earth was I thinking? I've brought shame to my family; I am not worthy of such benign punishment by your hand!" 

Mom rolls her eyes and takes a swig of the brightly colored liquor in her glass. "You li'l smartass. Just say sorry to your sister."

Rose barks a quick apology, adroitly padding upwards towards her room, barely catching the beginnings of her mother asking Roxy why she got so worked up over something so trivial. The eldest Lalonde sister disregards such meager matters; she has alphabetizing and writing and knitting to do. 

After her ordeal regarding her CD's, Rose logs onto Pesterchum to exchange some words with her friends. John has nothing much to offer, besides some vague teenage ramblings of some actor he is newly infatuated with, while Dave has some intriguing stories of his brother and dreams he's had recently. Jade is kind and spritely, as usual, though she has very little intellectually stimulating to offer in conversation, much like the boys. Rose realizes that she can't avoid her romantic issues forever as she surveys the flashing icon on the bottom left of her monitor. She has been attempting to dodge Kanaya, the ferociously fashionable Frenchwoman whom had not-so-subtly asked Rose on what was certainly a date nearly twelve hours ago. Rose pretended that she simply had not checked her computer, but she realizes that she can't keep that façade on for much longer. 

With a petulant sigh, she clicks on the little rectangle. 

• • •

Roxy Lalonde sits at her computer after her fabulously idiotic blunder and a fantastic reaming from her mother, complaining at the pixelated images of her friends.

"She's so just- just-"

"Pretentious? Insufferable?" Dirk offers. "A pain in every imaginable orifice?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?" Roxy lifts her head from its resting position on her keyboard.

"I have three brothers, Rox. You learn these things." He adjusts his triangular sunglasses and Roxy ponders what color his eyes are. 

She asks him. 

"They're nothin' special, trust me," the blonde boy sighs. 

Jake, the boisterous jungle boy, butts in: "Oh, please, Dirk!" He adjusts his collar and scoffs. 

"How about we drop it?" Dirk's annoyed tone is one heavy with warning, so the others obey. 

"You all are a handful, you know," Jane informs in a very motherly manner. 

"Janey, you're just lame." Roxy pulls her lips into a straight line and nods at her friend. 

Jane runs her hand through her chin length dark hair and gasps in a comical fashion. "Me? Lame? How dare you!" 

The youngest of the bunch scrunches her nose up. "So lame. The lamest."

"No, I think Dirk has that covered." Four heads jerk up at the sound of a swaying accent, one surely not belonging to any teenager. Dirk’s eldest brother comes into view behind the young man. “Hate to break this up, but Dirky’s got chores. Say night-night to your friends, kiddo.”

“Dane, are you kidding me?” Dirk turns to face his disruptive sibling, sincerely irked. “I’m almost seventeen; I ain’t goin’ to bed at eight!”

Dane straightens his posture and shoves his hands in the pockets of his rarely-seen hoodie. “You do what I tell you, now go take out the trash and go to bed. I need you up bright and early tomorrow.”

Roxy watches the two bicker with her eyebrows raised, as do Jake and Jane. Roxy’s expression twists into one of surprise when Dirk’s hand slams his computer shut, cutting off his connection to the group call. 

“That escalated fairly quickly,” Jake tentatively mutters.

“Indeed. I guess I have to go now, too.” Jane waves and bids her dear friends “farewell,” Jake quickly following suit. 

The young Lalonde presses her lips into a pout and steps away from her computer and to her bed, weighing the pros and cons of demanding that her sister shut off her obnoxiously loud classical renditions of an assorted mix of pop and rock songs. She decides against this as a song she likes begins and she glances through the one window in her room briefly, barely registering the late hour. Roxy knows that she should get her sleep, and she’ll really need it tomorrow; a first day at a new school isn’t something she wants to be groggy for.

After nearly an hour of constant doubting and fabricating improbable scenarios, Roxy falls asleep, lulled by the now soft piano music drifting through the house and a light drizzle of rain drumming against the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo. I wrote things. Finally.  
> EDIT: I messed this up big time, but I fixed it. Also, please, please, please tell me what you think! Thank you for reading!


	4. In Which John Rethinks Some Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John forgets his binder and Slick probably gives him a bad grade on something. John also swears he's heterosexual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeaaah. Look at that update. The actual comic's update and mine. Updates.

John groans as he sinks into his chair in algebra. His bag sits unzipped on the desk and his math binder is nowhere to be seen, so he has done the most unacceptable thing for a teenaged Egbert to do: show up to class without the proper homework. One tan hand finds silky black locks, fiddling with the strands that fall in uneven clumps, a result of a missing hairbrush at home. He reminds himself to look for that while he looks for his binder.

Dave strides through the classroom doorway moments before the bell sounds, taking his seat beside John and earning a few prying looks from the group of girls in the back of the room. The blonde unpacks the things he needs for this class and John asks him for a few sheets of paper. Dave throws him a bewildered sideways glance and hands him four sheets of lined paper, questioning why he needed it. 

  


“I lost my binder, okay?” John snaps, just a tad irritable. He hadn’t taken the impossibly elusively thing out of his backpack, so where was it?

  


“Nice going,” the Strider sighs. “How do you even do something like that?”

  


“I wish I knew!” John exclaims just a tad too loud and gets hushed by the teacher, Mr. Slick. 

  


“Would you two like us to wait for you, or can we actually do something productive?” Slick jabs, gripping a pencil facing outward, almost as one would hold a knife.

“By all means, sir, teach away.” Dave crosses his arms and slumps backward in his chair. He knows Slick hates him; he’d be failing the class if it wasn’t his best subject. He’s disruptive on the worst occasions, procrastinates like there’s no tomorrow, and violates Slick’s “no sunglasses in the classroom rule on a daily basis. John envies how relaxed Dave and his guardians are about this; Mr. Egbert would flip out if John so much as looks at a teacher the wrong way. Even if John’s dad wouldn’t, his older cousin, Jane, would be having none of his tomfoolery.

Mr. Slick makes a noise akin to a growl and twists his body to look at the whiteboard behind his desk. He is, as usual, impeccably dressed in a perfectly fitting suit and a trilby always perched atop his head, flattening waves of black hair. His facial features are sharp and chiseled, eyebrows never straying from their furrowed position for long. Generally, one might describe him as mean-looking; he’s probably near six-foot five, John speculates often, and with a face that certainly gets across his message of general distaste of people in general. 

  


The only times he will smile are when his wife and fellow teacher, Ms. Paint, enters the room.

  


 Times like the current moment.

  


The classroom door closes with such a faint sound that the students barely hear it and the seemingly very young woman scurries in, much to the delight of her husband. She beams up at him, being an exceptionally short woman, shorter than the vast majority of her students, and Slick smirks and lifts an eyebrow as she mutters something softly enough for him to hear. 

“I don’t know for sure,” he responds, audible to his students. “I’ll let you know during my conference period, alright?” 

  


She smiles at him, pale pink cheeks puffing out in an almost childlike way, nods to his students and murmurs an “I’m sorry for interrupting,” and leaves the room as quietly as she entered. 

  


John and Dave are sure they’re going to be sick after Mr. Slick’s unwarranted facial expressions, and they don’t doubt that the others in the classroom feel similarly.

  


***

  


“And then he, like,   smiled  at her almost!” John concludes his ramblings with sharp nodding and raised eyebrows. 

Rose sighs. “Well, John, people usually enjoy the company of their chosen lawfully wedded companions.” 

  


“But it’s Slick, Rose. Slick!” He shoves his sandwich into his mouth and opts to chew in place of speaking. 

  


“Hey, Rose, isn’t your little sister going to this school now?” Dave inquires in desperate hopes of drifting from the subject of borderline terrifying math teachers.

  


“Yes, she is.” Her answer is short and clipped, cutting off further prying.

  


“Well?” Dave is keeping his hands preoccupied with tearing blades of grass up in an unpremeditated manner. He is genuinely curious about Roxy's attendance of such an unimportant high school; she switched from an incredibly prestigious performing arts school. 

  


"There's nothing more to say on the matter. She decided she disliked the career path she was headed down and changed it.” Rose takes  a swig from her water bottle and stands, announcing that she has homework to finish.

  


Dave, Jade, and John exchange a look, and later plans to congregate at the Strider residence.

  


During their friendly get-together, the trio does normal teenager things such as talking, eating, and discussing Latvian politics. All truly is smooth sailing until Dirk and his boyfriend make an appearance, much to the confusion of Jade and irritability of Dave. 

  


Jake spends a good amount of time stood aside with Jade, trying to explain the actually very simplistic fact that he and Dirk are dating. Jade’s refusal to acknowledge this fact is less misunderstanding than Jake thinks and more confusion and blatant disgust in the activities that have certainly ensued between the two. 

  


Dave decides to preoccupy the other nerds, including his brother, by breaking out the good ol' twister mat. He's not exactly sure how he ended up as part of the tangle of limbs, with Bro spinning the plastic arrow atop colored cardboard and K-pop blaring as a background to all of these kids' strangely suggestive shenanigans. 

  


Bro demands that Dirk's left hand relocate itself to the nearest blue space and all the kids go tumbling like dominoes, face-first onto the hardwood floor. 

  


"Remind me why we haven't had carpet put in here, please?" Dirk groans, rubbing his head as he lies on his back with Jake horizontally slumped over him. 

  


"Quit your whinin', kid. Nonna'd whack you with a wooden spoon if you talked to her like that," Bro informs his younger sibling, almost as if Dirk had ever known the woman. 

  


"But she's not here and we don't own a single wooden spoon." 

  


Bro smacks him upside the head and John, Jade, Dirk, and Jake laugh hysterically. 

  


Come the time for the children to settle down, Jake and Dirk have absconded to the confines of the latter's bedroom, Jade and Dane idly chatter about the similarities in their families, and John and Dave perch on the roof, gazing mindlessly into the vast expanse of the darkened Washington sky. The two boys sit with only a few inches dividing them, consumed in a comfortable silence. John's prying blue hues scan Dave's profile, searching for a hint of distraction behind black lenses. He looks away barely too late when Dave turns towards him. 

  


"Pretty, ain't it?" Dave murmurs, hardly audible. 

  


John turns toward his friend, humming a reply. He isn't too terribly interested in the night sky at the moment; coming up to the roof was Dave's idea. He wanted to stargaze without the distracting presence of too many people. 

  


At least, this is what Dave told John. 

  


On some level, maybe even partly unknown to himself, Dave wanted to be alone with John for a while. It isstrictly platonic, though. Dave won't let himself have feelings of any sort, usually, especially so for his friends. 

  


"Hey," John whispers sheepishly, nearly drowned out by the faint chatter on the streets below. "Dave, can I ask you something awkward?"

  


One dark eyebrow raises above dark glass. "Okay?" He sounds hesitant, but not against John's preposition. 

  


John takes a deep breath. "Have you," he leans down to rub his eye in an act of nervous self-distraction, "Have you had, you know, your first kiss?"

  


Dave stares for a moment, debating whether or not he should tell the truth or not. He decides on the former. "Yeah. Why'd you ask?" 

  


They are both looking at the other now, nearly touching one another. 

  


"Just, you know, wondering." The younger brunet boy laughs nervously.

  


"Have you?" 

  


John's eyes widen and his posture grows defensive. "No, I mean, I just haven't found the right person, I think." It sounds more like a question than a statement.

  


The young blond's teeth nip at the inside of his cheek. He knows what he wants to do, he knows it clear as day, but he has no clue how John would feel. "Come here." 

  


"What?" John's expression is one of bewilderment. "Dave, are you suggesting I kiss you?"

  


"Yeah. Why not?" Dave leans back onto his hands. 

  


"We're both guys! And I'm not a," he didn't get his sentence out before Dave cut him off. 

  


"You don't have to be gay to kiss guys and you never know 'til you try it. Christ, Egbert." He pauses for a moment to think. "I'll say 'no homo'."

  


John sighs and scoots closer to Dave. Dave puts his arm around the younger boy and leans forward. 

  


Their lips touch and John jumps headfirst into infatuation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave some comments! I appreciate and acknowledge every one! Thank you for reading!
> 
> -ZJ


	5. In Which Karkat is Basically an Overgrown Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat does a lot of yelling, as per usual, while Dave and Mituna say very important things.  
> Also Dave thinks bro-dates are okay.  
> Death to the bro-dates.  
> Also, DAVEKAT IS CANON.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALAS! An update! I apologize for my absence, but I'm back in business now!  
> ~ZJ

Eridan Ampora and Sollux Captor have been locked in an inescapable game of sensual high school tag. One of them- somewhat discreetly- does something particularly scandalous for a teenaged couple to do in public, or otherwise, and the other soon tries to outdo them. This has been going on for weeks now, and now that Karkat knows about this, he suddenly understands everything. 

"What the fuck? What? The fuck? What the fuck?" Karkat does not take to this revelation well. 

"Yep." Mituna sips cherry Coke from a can with a bright yellow bendy straw, releasing a heinous sounding laugh. "You're welcome!" The older Captor twin swings a leg over the yellowed beige bench and skips off, quickly landing flat on his chest on the grass with his straw still between his teeth. 

Karkat releases a laugh and receives a smack over the head by the hand of Sollux. "What did nerdlord over there want?" 

"What?" Karkat rasps, stabbing at a slice of school cafeteria pizza with a fork. "He told me very valuable things. Life lessons. The unholy desecration of my seat in homeroom." 

As they sit, Eridan snorts and Sollux scoffs. "Please," The blonde boy with the red and blue glasses lisps, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, sure you don't." Karkat slams his fork down and curses in Spanish. 

"Language, mu'dak," The pompous swimmer pipes up. 

"Yo, lovebirds, chill out." Eridan looks at his friend with benefits- or something of that nature- with a beyond-mystified look contorting his features. 

"What did you just say to me? Look at me, Captor! Look me in the eye while I talk at you! How are you so rude? Is it even possible to be that terribly discourteous? I despise you with a passion, did you know that? You suck. You beyond suck. You suck in every universe and dimension in existence. You suck so much that everything you touch gets vacuumed into a black hole of suckage.” Karkat’s arms flail wildly about his face, eyes screwed shut and mouth spewing profanity of every type. A small circle of his peers and upperclassmen forms around the table, one of them filming the incident on an iPhone bedazzled with blue rhinestones. 

Vriska Serket laughs behind the surface of the screen of her phone, likely amused by the temper tantrum being thrown by the fifteen year old boy in front of her. He is quite the spectacle, thrashing around and almost screaming louder than she thought physically possible. Her blue eyes contrast against her heavily bronzed complexion, long lashes curving outward as her eyes narrow in short-lived gaiety. 

A blonde boy in conspicuous rounded sunglasses swiftly shushes Karkat and sweeps him away, leaving the gathered onlookers disappointed, though none quite as terribly as the Serket girl. 

Off in their own sequestered corner of the unnecessary expanse of school property, Dave and Karkat exchange painfully awkward small talk and shy glances. Karkat is the first to speak. 

“I’m going to cut to the chase: what are we even doing here?” He looks Dave dead in the eye, biting his inner lip as if it would prevent his heart from leaping from his chest. 

The two boys stare each other down as thoughts swim about their minds. 

Karkat, whose life motto is “hope for the best, but expect the worst,” is only practicing the latter half of this sentiment. Pessimism runs deep in his veins with no exceptions or leniency regardless of how pretty and kind the boy is.

Dave, honestly, is just wondering how in the world he can ask one of his best friends out.

He decides to just go for it. “How about we go out?”

The baffled Spanish boy is rendered speechless for once. He simply sits, stammering an unintelligible mix of syllables.

“I mean, it’s just a suggestion. You don’t have to do anything that you’re not comfortable with. It could be platonic. It doesn’t have to be a date-date; it can just be a bro-date.”

Karkat, desperate to make the needless rambling stop, silences Dave with his lips. When he pulls back an inch or so, he sighs “Shut up, Strider.”

Dave averts his stare to his lap. “That was cheesy as hell.”

“Shut up, do I need to do it again?” Karkat’s hand moves from the other’s cheek and cards through his hair. “I saw it in a movie and wanted to try it, okay?”

The Strider snorts a laugh and leans his head back to touch the concrete wall he leans against. “So, do I have a boyfriend now, or what?”

“What do you think, idiot?” Karkat rocks himself to his feet and makes a swift departure, trying not to laugh to himself like a giddy little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know where this is going.
> 
>  
> 
> I like it.  
> -ZJ


	6. In Which Bets are Made and Sloppy Make Outs Occur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back after almost a year and I'm determined to keep with the schedule this time, so let's celebrate with some boyfriends boyfriending.

Familiar mixes of less popular songs pour through the surround sound system of the Strider apartment, egging on a ravenous crowd of Bro’s friends and acquaintances while giving Dave a splitting headache, despite being stowed away in the kitchen with a group of his friends. He gnaws on his lower lip while he watches the Harley-English twins, Dirk, and John whisper amongst themselves. His eyes trail to Roxy and her friend Calliope chattering sweetly in the corner as Caliborn, irritating douche bag extraordinaire, scowls and contributes to the conversation every so often. Dave takes a moment to observe as Caliborn shakes his head hardly noticeably and blinks especially hard, his burning crimson contact lenses taking a moment to return to their proper place in front of striking green irises. The younger Kerubinn twin catches Dave’s attention for the moment, before it is resigned to Karkat, who seems to be enjoying himself considerably less than anyone else in the circle. 

Dave decides that he wants to do a very stupid thing, so he takes Karkat’s hand, ignoring the shorter boy’s protest, and leads him to his bedroom. He closes the door softly as the music outside of his chosen place of solitude changes pace, a catchy pop tune from a few summers back morphing into a remix of an intense Christian rock track by a band Dave knows Dirk listens to. Dave thinks that he is likely hearing one of his older brother’s mixes. He pushes these thoughts away, though, as he turns to face the red-faced boy sitting on his bed. 

“What’s the idea, Strider?” Karkat speaks first with words that signify anger, but a tone that leaves a resounding air of concern. 

"Wanted out,” Dave groans, sitting beside Karkat before lying backwards. “Too much. Had a headache.” 

Karkat hums in understanding and trains his eyes on his lap. Dave softly says “hey” and when Karkat looks at him, gestures for him to lie down as well. Auburn hair is shamed by cheeks’ bright hue and the younger boy complies. He settles on his stomach with his elbows keeping his shoulders propped upright. Dave slides his shades from their place atop the bridge of his nose and sets them aside while he turns to look at his company, their faces mere inches apart. He brushes a hand against Karkat’s cheek, smiling when his eyes connect with dark brown. He takes note of the slight red tint of the deep hue. The blond bites his lower lip for a brief moment before leaning upwards to kiss the corner of Karkat’s mouth. The latter moves to hide his flustered face from view, though finds himself stopped by two lean fingers underneath his chin, keeping two pairs of eyes trained on each other. Dave swears he hears the object of his affections whimper. By that very action, he finds himself plotting one of his own. 

Dave places one hand on Karkat’s hip and positions the other beneath himself for leverage and guides the both of them into a more suitable position. “Is this okay?” When he gets a small, vaguely vigorous nod and a pleading look in exchange for his words, the taller of the pair leans downward to brush his lips against Karkat’s jaw. Leaving a firm kiss in the space underneath his ear, Dave revels in the control he gains in this new position and brings his lips to the hollow of his boyfriend’s throat. He notices as Karkat’s breathing becomes more frantic and leaves another kiss, this one softer. Blond hair tickles pale skin as the owner of such a disheveled mess atop his head nips his way from the column of an ivory throat back to his place, face to face with the boy he has so easily reduced to a mess. Dave pecks Karkat’s nose before capturing his lips in heated need. Karkat places his hands in Dave’s hair, tugging just enough to get a reaction. The latter gives a sound akin to a growl and presses himself more firmly into the boy beneath him. 

The pair moves in harmonious need, each grabbing and grinding and panting and finding a chaotic peace in the contact from the other. Dave ruts his hips and fists a hand in Karkat’s hair, earning a low moan into their kiss. 

Neither of them hears the door open. 

By some miracle, they don’t hear the glass hit the floor. 

However, they both very clearly hear John and Dirk say “Jade and Roxy totally owe us” in complete unison and the unmistakable sound of the palm-to-palm contact of a high five. 

Dave watches Karkat’s expression go from one of want to one of complete resentment. He almost has to stifle a snort. He decides to sit up to allow the angrier to exert his rage how he pleases. “You were fucking betting on us? How dare you? What have I done to you, exactly?”

John starts, “ Well, you betted on Roxy and I, so-”

“That is completely irrelevant here, shit sofa. I have been so terrifically respectful to your crap dating choices and you repay me by having someone else pay you as a compensation for being correct in an assumption that I’m trying to get down with my real actual boyfriend. I cannot believe this. I’m so blast-fucking triggered-” Karkat is cut off by John shutting the door in an effort to spare himself a Kankri-sized lecture, now with more expletives! Dave lets himself laugh as he leans against his headboard. 

“Way to take the blame off of yourself, babe.” 

“Shut up. Like fuck was I going to just sit there and let them laugh.” He leans against the Strider, liking the feel of his cheek against bare skin. 

“I know, I know.” He takes a swig out of a water bottle left previously forgotten on his nightstand. “They’re probably still laughing about it with everyone anyways.”

“I don’t care.” He takes it upon himself to wrap one of Dave’s arms around him and pout. Dave thinks he might care just a tad. He leaves it alone.

***

John comes bounding back into the confines of the Strider household kitchen, Dirk trailing shortly behind. Jade and Roxy look to them expectantly. 

“They were most certainly making out,” John says matter-of-factly. The two girls groan. 

“Was it sloppily, though?” Roxy inquires, grasping to a shred of hope and her twenty dollars. 

John gives her a cocky smile and confirms, “Very.” 

The group of teens erupts in chatter, laughing and sipping glasses of orange or apple juice. In the midst of the cacophony manufactured, Terezi finds it an easy task to depart unnoticed and without saying her goodbyes, gripping a half emptied bottle of water and making her best efforts to keep tears from falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity? What's that?  
>   
> -ZJ


	7. In Which Fancy Dinners Happen and Hot Dads Exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dad, no.

It’s mere hours after the catastrophe of a party ends that Dane announces to his brothers that they need to break out their nicest clothes and put away the dumb pointy douchebag shades for a night because they’re going out to dinner with one of his acquaintances from high school. No one’s particularly happy about the prospect of dinner with someone they don’t know, with that someone’s family that they don’t know, at some obnoxiously expensive fancy restaurant that they don’t know. Dane vocalizes that  _ he’s _ not particularly happy about having to listen to a bunch of blond brats whine about everything, but that’s how life is.

 

He uses this same tactic to get his younger siblings to clean the mess made by the rowdy social gathering that they have yet to fully recover from. Bro half-drunkenly passes energy drinks around, quickly emptying his own and tossing the can somewhere to be picked up later. Dave sips at his while he departs from his brothers and goes to his bedroom to check on Karkat, who had fallen asleep. To his surprise, Karkat is sitting against the headboard, his face gently illuminated by his cell phone. 

 

“Hey, sleeping ugly,” Dave says, gaining the attention of the other boy, who sees the can in his boyfriend’s hand and wordlessly reaches a hand out expectantly. 

 

“Sharing is caring.” He glares up at the taller of the pair through thick eyelashes. Dave shrugs, takes another sip, and hands the can off. “I’ll leave in fifteen or so; mom probably already sent out a search party.”

 

Dave presses his lips to the top of Karkat’s head and keeps them there as he mumbles a “bluh.” Karkat’s frame jolts as he snorts.

 

The auburn-headed Spanish boy does exactly as he says, and lingers for a short while before having to leave to his own place of residence, likely finding himself having to sneak in.

 

The Striders make their best efforts at cleaning the wreck their apartment had become for the next few hours, eventually deeming their attempts ‘good enough’ and passing out in an unceremonious pile of limbs and cleaning supplies. Dirk is the first to wake at the sound of a phone’s clumsy default ringtone screeching from one of the many pockets around him. He struggles to gain freedom from the suffocating confinement of his brothers’ combined weight to no avail. He tries yelling at them. He’s not sure why he thought that would work. His last resort is to flail wildly, thrashing his limbs in every which way, hoping to hit someone either in the face or in the crotch hard enough to wake them up. He catches Bro square on the forehead. 

“Whas the fuh,” the older man slurs, clearly hungover.

 

Dirk responds promptly, “Who has the stupid ringtone?”

 

Bro tries shaking his older brother, who happened to rest atop his back. When this doesn’t work, he yells Dane’s name loud enough to wake the entire block, if they all just so happened to still be asleep at one in the afternoon. The eldest of the bunch jerks awake, his hand flying to his coat pocket and bringing his phone to his ear. He gets up and excuses himself to the kitchen to engage in brief conversation.

 

He returns moments later to rouse his brothers and command that they ready themselves in anticipation of dinner. A fair amount of argument and coffee later, one Strider familial unit is up and running. Dane makes sure jackets fit and shoes are unscuffed while Bro attends to hair and Dave spends an hour trying to get his eyeliner completely even. 

 

Eventually, the horde of done-up, pierced-up blond men shuffles out of their apartment and into their Jeep. Dave was just a little embarrassed to pull up to such a nice restaurant in such a clunky looking vehicle, but he wrote it off as a grand display of the family’s irony. The valet, an angry looking twenty-something with bright red eyebrows and a sad, faded looking shade of auburn that looks as if it was once vibrant as well stares in awe at the car as it rolls to a stop in front of him. They hand the keys off to him and enter the obnoxiously grandiose dinery. The three younger Striders are shocked when they hear Dane announce to the woman just inside the door that their reservation was placed under the name ‘Egbert.’ Dave chokes on his breath, Bro’s eyes widen, and Dirk just nods. 

 

Dane smiles at his brothers’ reactions and follows the woman dressed in a pleasant silver-grey blouse to their table. They are brought to a decently sized mahogany table flanked on two sides with leather upholstered seats, which three dark haired and blue eyed individuals already sit with impeccable posture. Dave quickly occupies the seat beside the youngest, because no way is he sitting with anyone other than his best bro, Johnjamin. No way, no how. He also really wanted to sit in the corner. Dirk slides in next to him, then Bro, and finally Dane on the end, facing the eldest of the Egberts, James.

 

Dane gives himself a moment to study James’s perfectly upwards sculpted, completely jet black hair and the few lines he has gained near his eyes. The blond also takes note of the broadness of his shoulders and sharp line of his profile that have been refined by maturity-- and likely a better workout regime-- since he had last seen them so long ago. He happens to catch James glance in Bro’s direction and move his lips slightly in a silent declaration  as he trains his eyes on John, who has begun to speak.

 

“I just realized that it’s kinda weird that you’ve never actually met my dad, isn’t it?” He gives Dave a bright grin and turns to Dane, “But I guess you know him, huh?”

 

“Yeah, kid, your old man and I go way back. Back to when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.” Dane gives a smirk almost wide enough to be considered a smile.

 

James laughs lightly, “Speak for yourself, Strider; some of us still have our youth.” 

 

“Aren’t you, like, twelve?”

 

The two eldest at the table laugh in harmony while the others look at them with very confused expressions. Their expressions soften a bit as a pleasant looking waiter with a meek voice and short-cropped hair and two delicate butterfly shaped hairpins on either side of the crown of their head breezes towards the table. 

 

They smile with lightly glossed lips and ask if the lot is having a good evening, nodding politely when they respond positively. “I am Lilith and I will be your server this evening! Can I start you off with drinks?” They get their responses and leave with the same grace they appeared with. 

 

James notices Bro avoiding his gaze. He quirks an eyebrow. “Say, Feliciano, it’s been awhile since we’ve last met, hasn’t it?” When he catches his target’s attention, he gives his best gentlemanly smile, dazzling white teeth and all. It makes Bro wish he could hide behind his shades, but Dane said they ‘weren’t formal’ and made them all ditch the sunnies. 

 

“I mean,” Bro tries to keep his voice steady, “I was like eight back then.” 

 

“Were you?” James sighs, seeming very blatantly nostalgic. “It was so long ago, hmm? How old are you now?”

 

Bro realizes the older man’s attempts at smalltalk and hated himself for so easily engaging. One side of him is screaming in panic; what do you do when your older brother’s friend from high school starts talking to you like a mature acquaintance instead of the bratty little kid he’s only ever known you as? The other side of him is saying “ _ shit, that’s a hot dad. _ ”

 

He just clears his throat and replies, “Twenty five. I’m twenty five now.” He hears Dirk and Jane giggling amongst themselves and suddenly really wants to smack a certain blonde kid with bad roots, but he just glares at him and tries to do the same at Crocker, but his resolve breaks when he realizes just how ridiculous he looks trying to appear intimidating when he is so neatly done up. He’s smiling along with the others at the table when a very long, very loud string of vulgarities sounds from outside. 

 

The occupants of the table all share a look that confirms it: that voice does seem to belong to their darling waiter with round cheeks and butterfly hair clips. The air in the restaurant goes silent and stale as all the patrons listen to a sweet voice shrill some not as sweet words to the valet, it seems. A few moments later, they delicately step through the doorway, holding a platter stacked with the Strider-Egbert party’s drinks. She approaches their table, pleasantly setting the glasses on their coasters atop the table. They say their ‘thank you’s and place their orders like they didn’t hear what had happened moments earlier.

 

Dave hisses air through his teeth and raises his eyebrows. “Welp.”

 

Jane excuses herself to powder her nose. Dave excuses himself, but for reasons that give a much less ladylike impression. John, James, Dirk, Bro, and Dane are left in a silence that wouldn’t particularly be comfortable, though not uncomfortable. John, however, finds it very uncomfortable and departs for the restroom as well. James sips his iced tea, making a face at the taste of the extra sweeteners in it. Dane takes it upon himself to speak.

 

“God, it’s been a long time. Our kids are best friends for fuck’s sakes and we haven’t spoken in almost a decade.” He pauses and sighs. “I’m sorry, man.”

 

James gives him a warm smile in a way that feels like a friend’s and not that of a father aged by the stress of raising a teenaged boy. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Dante.” Bro and Dirk expect Dane to express distaste at the sound of the name, but he doesn’t, and that speaks volumes to them. James continues, “We’ve both had families to take care of and I have been at just as much fault as yourself. Regardless, this isn’t particularly thrilling dinner conversation, so let’s pick this up later, perhaps?” 

 

Dane relaxes and nods just as the three missing components of their party return.

 

They eat while maintaining comfortable conversation, right up until the moment Dave gets a phone call and cracks up much too loudly for such a prim, proper setting. 

 

“You will never  _ believe  _ what Karkat’s little sister just did,” he announces after hanging up his phone. 

 

“You mean Nepeta?” John asks, as if Karkat has any other little sisters to choose from. 

 

Dave looks at him, as if to tell him he’s a massive idiot. John gets the message. 

 

“Well?” Bro butts in, “What did the little squid do?”

  
Dave’s exasperated expression turns delighted. “ _ She kicked Eridan Ampora’s ass.”  _


	8. In Which ZJ Explains What On Earth is Going On With This Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year and three months later, Miss Author does some explaining.

Today this work hit 1300 hits-- which I am endlessly grateful for, though I feel almost guilty, having abandoned this work over a year ago without explanation.

I had huge plans for this fic; I had intended over 30 chapters at its conception, though very few were actually written. If I am correct, I began to write IWJohn in late 2014. I heavily collaborated with [a good friend](http://archiveofourown.org/users/End/pseuds/End) to create just about every aspect of  this new universe, which I came to call the  _Troublemakers Universe_ _._ I liked it well enough, but it did not seem right to me. There were little things about it that didn't make sense, and much of the story that I intended to be crucial to the plot could only be explained through clumsy reference.

I had decided only recently (in April) to rewrite it. [This Loser](http://archiveofourown.org/users/End/pseuds/End) and I had a discussion about just about all the interesting things we could do with this universe, which prompted me to begin again.

This story will be rewritten, and a prequel will be released prior, which will deal with the time period a rough twenty years before IWJohn, I am thinking. They will likely each be able to be understood independently of their counterpart, but they will be related.

My goal is to have both up and mostly written before October and it would mean the world to me to see some of those who took interest in IWJohn do so with these new works, as well.

Thank you,

ZJ

 

 

(P.S.: I promise not to disappear for another year.)


End file.
